


The Quiet Moments

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Nightmares, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quiet, Sleeping Together, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:57:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all the chaos and noise of John and Sherlock's lives, it's the quiet moments that John treasures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet Moments

In all the excitement that made up their lives, it was the quiet moments that John Watson treasured. Sure, there was something to be said about chasing criminals, about the rush of adrenaline, about the satisfaction of knowing that justice was being served. But there was also something to be said about quiet evenings in, of take away or simple meals that John cooked or Mrs. Hudson brought up or even, rarely, that Sherlock prepared. Of watching crap telly and watching Sherlock trying to deduce the shows, or drifting off to the strains of the violin.

Tonight was one of those quiet nights. John had fixed a simple supper, Sherlock had fidgeted with some experiment or another. A case had been solved, but the boredom hadn’t set in yet. Greg had called up earlier and asked about a pint, but John had turned him down, just wanting this time with Sherlock.

As John finished drying the dishes, Sherlock took out his violin. John couldn’t help his smile as Sherlock played. There was something vaguely familiar about the composition, but John didn’t know classical music well enough to name the piece. He dried the last plate and put it away, then made tea, carrying out two cups to the front room. He put one near Sherlock and settled in his chair. A low fire kept the autumn chill at bay. John sipped his tea and read his journal, just letting the peace of the evening settle into his bones.

Sherlock eventually brought the piece to a close and put his violin away. It was the object he always treated most gently of all the things in the flat. Sipping his now cold tea, he sat across from John, watching him.

Aware of his gaze, John let his bare feet touch Sherlock’s, but didn’t yet set the book aside. Sherlock added a log to the fire and it crackled, loud in the quiet of the flat. It had to be getting late, and John was feeling tired, but not yet ready to leave the warmth and comfort of the main flat for his own room. Besides, perhaps he’d sleep with Sherlock tonight.

Sherlock gathered the mugs and took them into the kitchen, rinsing them out and setting them to dry. John smiled and set his journal aside as Sherlock came back in, pausing at the threshold, watching John.

“Come here,” said John, softly.

Sherlock crossed to him and gracefully sat in his lap. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and held him. Sherlock folded himself up and leaned against him, head tucked against his shoulder. John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, comforted by the warmth and weight against him. 

They stayed there for a while, just taking comfort in one another. John’s eyes drifted closed, but he didn’t sleep, he simply breathed, grateful for what he had.

It was Sherlock who took the next step, raising his head and kissing John softly. John kissed him back, tasting the remnants of tea. Outside, rain began to spatter against the windows. Sherlock raised his head to look.

“Let’s go to bed,” said John, murmuring against Sherlock’s throat. He knew that tonight he could probably get Sherlock to sleep, cozy underneath the blankets, the first hints of winter held at bay outside the walls.

Sherlock unfolded himself and padded down the hall. While John still had his own room, and sometimes even slept there, more and more these days he never made it to the stairs. He banked the fire, made sure everything was secure for the night, and followed Sherlock.

The Great Detective had already burrowed underneath the blankets. John undressed, left his clothes folded on top of the dresser, and climbed in after him.

Sherlock folded up around him. John was always warm; Sherlock was always cold. The rain fell a little harder outside, muting the ever present sound of city traffic. Sherlock’s bedroom was always a bit cold in the winter and he breathed in the smell of it. Sherlock’s hair tickled his nose and he brushed it aside. Shifting, Sherlock planted a kiss on John’s chest and settled a little further under the covers. 

John closed his eyes, and this time he did drift asleep.

Sometime later he was awakened by Sherlock jerking in his sleep. John was more than well acquainted with nightmares. He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, murmuring softly to him. Sherlock whimpered, but he calmed and then slowly opened his eyes.

John leaned in and kissed him gently. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him, heart beating hard enough that John could feel it, and tucked against his shoulder. John kissed his forehead. Maybe Sherlock would talk, but most likely he wouldn’t. Gradually they both fell asleep again.

When John woke again, it was with Sherlock’s delicate fingers wrapped around his cock. He moaned softly and opened his eyes, finding Sherlock watching him in the gray morning light. “Mornin’” John said, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Sherlock leaned down and kissed him once his hands were out of the way, slipping his tongue into his mouth, morning breath be damned. John couldn’t help but moan again, Sherlock’s free hand ghosting against his skin. He stretched out the morning aches and let Sherlock stroke his cock, rocking slowly up into his hand. John’s own hand reached out for Sherlock, finding him already fully hard.

Curious, he moved his hand lower, finding that Sherlock had already opened himself. “Woke up early, did you?” he asked, seeking out Sherlock’s lips for a slow kiss.

“You seemed to be resting comfortably,” said Sherlock, moving to straddle John’s waist, bracing himself on his chest. John guided him down, moaning as his cock was wrapped in Sherlock’s heat.

“I’m always comfortable when I’m sleeping with you,” smiled John.

Something shifted and softened in Sherlock’s gaze. “You mean that.”

“I do,” said John, stroking his thighs as Sherlock rode him slowly. 

“I sleep better when you are here, too,” admitted Sherlock.

“I know,” said John, taking Sherlock in hand.

Sherlock’s head dropped back and he moaned. John was struck by how frail he looked in the soft light. He’d put on some weight since John had moved in and he’d started eating more regularly. There was strength in his lithe body too. But still, he looked like a precious thing, something fragile that would shatter if it were dropped.

But John would never do that, and he knew Sherlock was not made of porcelain. He grabbed Sherlock’s hips and thrust up, making his lover mewl with pleasure.

Rolling them over, John drove into him, kissing him, burying his hands in those curls. Sherlock moved with him, graceful, beautiful. John could feel the swell of Sherlock’s cock between them. A wave of lust washed over him, of power, to know that he was the one to reduce Sherlock Holmes to this.

John thrust harder, feeling how close they both were. Sherlock grabbed desperately at his shoulders, holding on to him. John worked a hand down between them and gave Sherlock a few short strokes, bringing him over before coming himself.

Sherlock moaned and let his arms and legs drop to the bed. John smiled and kissed him one more time before going to get a rag to clean them up. He started to go put it away, only for Sherlock to tug him back to bed.

Reaching down, John pulled the blankets back over them both. Outside, London passed them by and the rain slowed. But here it was just them, safe, warm, cozy and together. Exactly where they needed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
